


Let Go

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Protective Kilgharrah (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Merlin is magic.Merlin was born with gold running through his veins, the energy of the earth thrumming through his fingers, sparks lingering just beneath his eyes. His mother used to shake her head when little Merlin ran down the paths, flicking up paths of leaves that would follow him gaily until they fluttered back down to the ground. That boy, she would think, destiny has big plans for that boy.Destiny did.
Relationships: Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Kilgharrah & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 229





	Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the anon on tumblr for the prompt! I had fun with it!
> 
> wow it feels nice to write these bois again even if it's like this :)

Prompt: I adore your Merlin work!! Can I submit a prompt? Merlin finds a way to ensure the safety of Camelot without Arthur’s death, and all it requires is the sacrifice of his magic and his immortality. Cue Merlin willing to become a regular human so Arthur can live. - Anon on tumblr

* * *

Merlin is magic.

Merlin was born with gold running through his veins, the energy of the earth thrumming through his fingers, sparks lingering just beneath his eyes. His mother used to shake her head when little Merlin ran down the paths, flicking up paths of leaves that would follow him gaily until they fluttered back down to the ground. _That boy,_ she would think, _destiny has big plans for that boy._

Destiny did.

Merlin _teems_ with magic. It’s everywhere for him. It’s in the way the wind flicks at his hair as he walks outside, ruffling the strands and sending tingles down his spine. It’s in the way the ground thrums with energy as he sets foot in the forest, the earth rushing to and from the life flourishing around him. It’s in the waters of the lake, ebbing and flowing as it gently laps against the shore.

It’s no surprise, then, that when a shudder runs through the earth, reeking of dark forces, Merlin drops the tray he’s holding to clutch at his chest.

“Merlin?”

  
Arthur looks up at him from behind his desk, frowning at Merlin, hunched over the nearest table.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Merlin grits out, “it’s fine.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, looking at the contents of the tray now scattered all over the floor. “Right, that’s why you’re dropping things everywhere.”

  
“‘M just clumsy.”

“I know that, Merlin.” Arthur stands. “Which is why I _also_ know this isn’t just you being clumsy.”

“You don’t know how clumsy I am.” Merlin isn’t even paying attention. He’s rubbing firm circles into his chest, trying to figure out what just happened.

So much so, in fact, that Arthur has to call his name three times before he realizes he’s standing right next to him.

“ _What?_ ”

Arthur raises his hands. “No need to yell, Merlin, I’m just asking if you want to go see Gaius.”

Merlin opens his mouth to retort when Arthur’s words sink in properly and yeah, actually, Gaius sounds good. Gaius will know what’s going on.

“Uh, yeah,” Merlin mumbles, feet already carrying him toward the door, “I, uh, I’m gonna do that.”

Arthur just watches him go, a bemused smile on his face. Merlin, he decides, is strange, yes, but that doesn’t make this less odd. He glances around, at the food scattered across the floor, and at his desk. Surely this can wait for a moment. There’s something wrong with Merlin.

He follows Merlin down the stairs, keeping a reasonable distance, not that Merlin’s paying much attention. Honestly, it was a wonder they didn’t get ambushed by bandits more, considering how bad Merlin was at figuring out he was being followed.

Merlin’s too busy trying to stay upright to realize he’s being followed, thank you very much. He keeps one hand pressed to his chest, trying to dull the phantom ache, as he dodges and swerves around other servants, mumbling apologies when he isn’t fast enough. At last, Gaius’s chambers come into view and he could sob with relief, pushing the door open and all but collapsing into a chair.

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “Merlin?”

“Something’s wrong,” Merlin manages through gritted teeth, “something’s wrong, I can feel it, it hurts.”

Gaius lays a hand on his forehead. “No fever…when was the last time you ate something?”

“Like…an hour ago, I’m _fine,”_ Merlin protests, swatting Gaius’s hand away, “it’s not _me,_ it’s something else.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “You complained of feeling pangs in your stomach and convinced yourself it was a curse when you hadn’t eaten in a day.”

Merlin hunches his shoulders sheepishly. “That time I also hadn’t _slept_ so my decision-making skills were not at their best.”

“Mm. And how did you sleep last night?”

“ _Gaius.”_

Something in Merlin’s tone must convey how serious this is for him because Gaius sobers, straightening and waiting for Merlin to swallow the lump in his throat.

“It hurts,” he says quietly, still rubbing his chest, “it…it feels like someone opened a crack in my chest and they’re…draining me.”

“Draining you how?”

“M-my... _me,_ Gaius.” Merlin huddles closer around himself, still pressing his hand to his chest.

“Take your tunic off.”

“What?”

Gaius motions to his chest. “Let me see.”

Merlin winces but does as he’s told, the cool air raising goosebumps on his pale skin, the ache worsening when he has to move his hand. Gaius leans forward, prodding at his chest with a finger.

“Well?”

Looking around, Gaius finds a mirror and holds it up. “Look, Merlin.”

Merlin looks. His mouth drops open.

There’s a dark splotch right in the center of his chest, so dark it almost looks wet. Merlin hesitantly touches it, watching his finger in the mirror hover over the spot. He presses. Hard. It sends a jolt of pain through him but it looks like his finger is just…hovering in shadow. It isn’t just dark, it’s _without color._

“…Gaius,” Merlin whispers, “what’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know Merlin,” comes the equally hoarse whisper, “I don’t know.”

Well, one thing’s for sure: Gaius isn’t letting Merlin go back to work. Merlin protests, because Arthur needs him, he left things scattered all over the floor, but no, Gaius is insistent, sending him up the stairs to bed without another thought. Merlin obeys, if even so the pain in his chest doesn’t steal his breath on the way back upstairs. Gaius waits until the door to Merlin’s room shuts and the bot slides to walk to the door and open it, revealing a very distressed Arthur.

“Typically, sire,” Gaius says in a low voice, “I do not allow eavesdroppers when I examine a patient.”

“What’s wrong with him,” Arthur mumbles, far too worried to be ashamed, “what’s wrong with Merlin?”

“As I presume you heard, sire, I don’t know.”

“But what—how—what do we _do?_ ”

Gaius sighs, ushering Arthur inside with the caveat that he _keep his voice down._ Arthur sits, worrying his hands until Gaius places a book down on the table and starts flipping through it.

“What’s that?”

“A book, sire.”

“But it’s…it’s…” Arthur frowns, tilting his head. It’s the alleged magic book that someone tried to arrest Merlin with. “Is that…”

Gaius just looks up at him. “Sire, I truly do not mean to insult your intelligence.”

And just like that, Arthur knows.

Arthur knows there’s a reason bandits keep conveniently falling unconscious. Arthur knows there’s a reason Merlin always manages to bollox up some big thing, and yet by the time they show up everything’s taken care of. Arthur knows there’s a reason that whenever there’s a whisper of magic in Camelot, Merlin’s not far behind.

Arthur swallows. “…can you heal him?”

Gaius rolls his eyes. “How many times do I have to say it, I—“

“Don’t know what’s wrong with him, I know,” Arthur interrupts, “but let me help.”

They scour the books. It’s no use. They can’t find any mention of being drained of magic, nor of mysterious colorless blobs that look like living shadows.

Merlin finds the answer in what might just be the worst way possible.

_“Merlin.”_

“No,” Merlin whines, rolling over and covering his ears with the pillow, “go _away._ ”

“ _Merlin._ ”

“Shut _up._ ”

_“Merlin._ ”

“Fine,” Merlin mumbles, getting out of bed and pulling on his boots, “fine. _”_

It doesn’t take long to get to their field. After so many years, Merlin could walk this path in his sleep. And sure enough, as soon as he breaks through the trees into the clearing, there he is.

“Young warlock,” Kilgharrah rumbles, raising his head, “you are in pain.”

“Yeah, well, someone _did_ just drag me out of bed,” Merlin grumbles, even as his knees threaten to buckle under him. “Do you know what’s going on with me?”

“I do.”

“Why is it,” Merlin sighs, “that whenever you _have_ something to tell me, it’s always cryptic and vague?”

“I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

“Blanket statement.”

The dragon chuckles. “You have grown cynical, young warlock.”

“Years of being persecuted and saving the world will do that to you.”

“I regret to inform you,” the dragon rumbles, his massive head leaning down, “that those days may soon be behind you.”

Merlin squints up at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“Magic,” Kilgharrah says, “is at a turning point. The earth is weary. Too much magic has been poured into living beings and not enough of it has been returned to the earth.”

Groaning, Merlin closes his eyes. “Please,” he mumbles, “for _once,_ can you just…speak plainly?”

“Too many sorcerers have been executed and the remaining ones don’t hold enough magic to keep the entire earth from threatening to break apart.”

Merlin gapes up at the dragon.

“You did request I speak plainly.”

“Okay…okay.” Merlin presses his hands against his throbbing temples. “What?”

“Magic is…an interesting thing,” the dragon decides on finally, “and it must be handled very, very carefully when it is being transferred.”

“Transferred, you mean…”

“When a being of magic dies,” Kilgharrah says, “it is not as simple as the magic finding its way back into the earth. That is why there are so many rituals for the death of a magic-user. A _true_ magic-user, those that are born with the gift.”

“So…”

The dragon sighs. “There used to be many. Now there are scarcely a few.”

Merlin sinks to his knees. This shouldn’t be a shock. He knows this. He _knows_ it. And yet…

“Quite,” the dragon murmurs as Merlin buries his head in his hands.

“What can be done,” Merlin manages around the lump in his throat, “to stop it?”

“Stop what?”

“The earth breaking apart or whatever it is that you said.”

Kilgharrah sighs. Why is _he_ the one sighing? Merlin’s the one who’s just been told that his people are so few in number now that the very ground he walks upon is under threat.

“Magic must be returned to the earth,” Kilgharrah says, “in the quantity that it was given and without strings attached.”

“Okay, so how do we do that?”

The dragon gives him a strange look. “A large quantity,” he repeats slowly, “must be returned…with no strings attached.”

“You just said that.”

“I am wondering whether or not you will realize what I am saying.”

“I _just_ said for you to speak plainly.”

“You must give up your magic,” Kilgharrah says softly, “and forfeit everything that has made you the Greatest Warlock to Walk the Earth.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Merlin’s mouth runs dry.

Merlin _is_ magic.

It is so much a part of him that Merlin doesn’t know where the magic ends and he begins. Merlin doesn’t know what it would be like without the rush through him or the faint tingle that keeps him company while he sleeps. He doesn’t know what it would be like to have it not be _there._ He’s had his magic stopped before, blocked, but it was still _there._ He could feel it, locked away in a corner of his body, utterly useless and beyond his reach but still very much _there._

He has no idea what it would feel like to reach for it and stumble into nothing but an empty void.

And yet…

“What happens,” Merlin asks lowly, “when the earth breaks apart?”

“The earth will try to get back what has been stolen from it,” Kilgharrah rumbles, “it will seek out what little bits of magic remain and reabsorb them, create itself anew, right the wrongs that have been done against it.”

A chill rushes through Merlin that has nothing to do with the ache in his chest.

“The world will end.”

“Not the _world,_ ” the dragon corrects softly, “but…yes.”

There’s no telling how many people would die. There’s no telling what damage that would do. There’s no telling whether there would even be a _world_ after this is over.

“How do I do it,” Merlin mumbles, his eyes falling closed, “how do I return my magic?”

“There are places where the barrier between the worlds is thinner,” the dragon says, “here…in these places, at special times, the spell can be cast that would return your magic in its entirety, to the earth.”

Merlin swallows. “Will it kill me?”

“No. That is part of the deal. You will live, your magic will not.”

Merlin sets his jaw, the ache in his chest settling. “When is the next time?”

“…at the next full moon.”

“Where?”

“I believe you know where.”

“…the lake?”

The dragon nods sagely. Merlin bows his head.

“Will I get to see Freya?”

“That, young warlock, I do not know.”

Despite everything, a smile touches the corners of Merlin’s mouth. “You might want to start looking for something else to call me.”

A realization crosses his mind.

“You must be excited,” he says, “after me…no more Dragonlords.”

“That is true,” Kilgharrah concedes with a nod of his head, “and yet…out of all the Dragonlords, I fear I will miss you the most.”

“You could still visit.”

Kilgharrah huffs a laugh. “I could. Though it was not long ago that you and I were not on such good terms.”

“Not long ago I thought my magic would be mine forever,” Merlin says. “Things change.”

“Indeed they do.” Kilgharrah stretches his neck out, looking down at Merlin. The dragon lowers himself to his belly. “And _you,_ young warlock, you have changed greatly.”

“Mm.”

“You were so small,” the dragon murmurs, “so wide-eyed when you first came to Camelot. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that very young boy.”

“Yes,” Merlin murmurs, “I wonder what happened to me.”

Kilgharrah has the decency to bow his head. Then, in a shocking display of tenderness that startles the both of them, he stretches his massive neck out, rumbling quietly. Merlin, still curled up on the ground, reaches out, arms open.

The dragon buries his head in Merlin’s lap, pushing his snout gently into his belly, closing his eyes as Merlin rests against his broad face.

_I forgive you,_ they say to each other, _I forgive you._

The next full moon is in a few weeks. In that time, Merlin thinks.

He has the spell. He’s told Gaius. Gaius isn’t pleased, but…as Merlin reminds them both, it could be worse. Merlin will survive. It will just be…different.

Merlin uses those weeks to try and figure out who he is without magic.

He figures out that he should probably learn how to fight without magic.

The knights are more than happy to help him, even if Lancelot pulls him into a rough hug when Merlin tells him, even if Leon looks at him and bows, even if Gwaine curses lightly.

He learns. He learns through bumps and bruises but he learns.

He figures out that he is absolute _rubbish_ as a physician’s assistant.

Gaius simply shakes his head and tells him it’s a good thing he’s Arthur’s servant, there’s no way he’d make it as Court Physician after he’s gone. The good news, Gaius tells him, is that not having magic shouldn’t impact his _knowledge_ of magic in the slightest.

He learns. He learns through trial and error and sleepless nights, trying to learn all that he can while he still can.

He figures out that really, he’s doing this for Arthur.

Not that it surprises him much, he hadn’t been lying to Kilgharrah. Arthur is the reason, at least the main reason, he’s like this now. Arthur and the hope that Arthur will create the kingdom meant to last, unite the land of Albion. He’s doing it for the way Arthur stands tall, amidst a council that is still more Uther than Arthur, and refuses to compromise. He’s doing it for the way a knight no longer has to be of noble blood, the way Percival and Lancelot and Elyan are more valued than ever because of their abilities, not their names. He’s doing it for the way he sees the people smile when Arthur walks by, no longer fearful of their king but proud.

He’s doing it for the way Arthur is strangely softer in the mornings, before he puts on the crown, still dozing in the warm sunlight. He’s doing it for the way Arthur still can’t remember where he’s put his quill, even if he was holding it only a few seconds ago. He’s doing it for the way Arthur smiles at him, alone in his chambers, just at Merlin.

He’s doing it for the way that Arthur hugs him fiercely in the early morning light, strong enough to take Merlin’s breath away, and says softly that _Merlin_ is enough, he doesn’t want a normal servant, he doesn’t want a knight, he doesn’t want a sorcerer, he just wants _Merlin._ And all Merlin can do it hold him back.

He’s doing it for Arthur.

He casts one last spell as he stands there, at the edge of the lake, in the moonlight. He cups his hands and whispers into them.

A single blue butterfly flutters away, its wings almost glowing in the pale silvery light.

Merlin is magic.

He is gold and he is silver and he is strength and he is tenderness. He is the way the earth curves about itself and the way the sky stretches farther than the eye can see.

And yet, as Merlin smiles, murmuring the last spell he’ll ever cast and feeling the ache in his chest start to lessen, the magic start to pull away from him, he knows he can be more.

For the others who were born with magic, he can be more.

For those that have yet to learn what magic truly is, he can be more.

For Arthur, he can be more.

Merlin closes his eyes and lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr:
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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